


Fight, Flight, Freeze, Fawn

by MiladyDeWinter (Techno_Queen)



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, a writer and a psychologist walked into a bar..., because psychology is interesting, this is essentially an elaborate character study
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 02:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Techno_Queen/pseuds/MiladyDeWinter
Summary: Different people respond to fear and danger in different ways. Some fight, struggling for survival as they actively combat the danger, while others run for their lives. Some freeze, muscles locking in place while they are consumed by the terror, while others strive to appease the attacker in an attempt to avoid injury.These are some of the ways Jack Frost has reacted to fear, whether it be through fight, flight, freeze, fawn, or a combination of the four.





	Fight, Flight, Freeze, Fawn

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I think an explanation is in order:
> 
> Everybody knows "fight-or-flight", right? If you're in danger, either you fight or you run for dear life. Pretty simple.
> 
> Well, it turns out this isn't entirely accurate. Some people "freeze" (i.e. stand immobile, frozen with fear). So "fight or flight" was upgraded to "fight, flight, or freeze".
> 
> And then another possible reaction came to light: fawn. This is where the victim tries to appease the attacker, to give the attacker what they want so the victim can hopefully get away uninjured. And thus "fight, flight, or freeze" was upgraded to "fight, flight, freeze, or fawn", which are collectively known as the four F's.
> 
> Interesting stuff, no? I thought so too, which is why I started writing...this.
> 
> A collection of five one-shots, each detailing a way that Jack reacted to fear, where the first focuses on "fight", the second on "flight", the third on "freeze", the fourth on "fawn", and the fifth on a combination of the four. 
> 
> Let us begin.

There were several reasons why Jack was currently feeling just a mite apprehensive.

One of them was the dryad. He’d meant the prank to be in good fun, of course, but dryads were notorious for their conspicuous lack of anything even remotely approaching a sense of humor. In addition, the vast majority of them abhorred winter spirits to an excessive degree. Thus, while the prank itself had been amusing (he would forever be surprised and entertained at how hysterically dryads always reacted towards out-of-season snow of any kind, it was just water for MiM’s sake), he was certain it would return to bite him in the rear end eventually.

Another reason was Coyote. It was just about due time for another prank from the trickster spirit, and he needed to keep his guard up. After all, it would be simply terrible for his reputation if he, Guardian of Fun and trickster extraordinaire, got one-upped by a glorified dog that was plagued with fleas. That wouldn’t do at all, now, would it?

The most pressing concern for the young spirit at that particular moment, however, was North.

North was acting...strange, lately. Like a child on Christmas Eve eagerly awaiting the coming morning. A homicidal, blood-thirsty child who was severely mentally unbalanced, that is. 

It was not unusual for the Cossack to exude jolliness and cheer (far from it, he tended to radiate it with an almost overwhelming intensity) but this was not normal. North typically behaved like an overexcited puppy that was practically bouncing off the walls in its enthusiasm. Now, however, he behaved more like an overexcited puppy that was bouncing off the walls while secretly plotting to kill its owners, set fire to the house, and take over the country, all in no particular order.

...That didn’t make much sense, did it?

The point was, North was clearly beginning to lose his mind, and Jack was (rightfully) worried. Being a Guardian was stressful, after all, and it was not unheard of for one of the Guardians to simply snap for a little while before regaining their senses. If memory served correctly, the last time this had happened to North, the Russian flooded two floors of the Workshop with molasses in an attempt to “revolutionize the production of Christmas confectionery everywhere,” whatever molasses had to do with that. 

No, seriously, just don’t ask. Jack had known from the start that the Guardians weren’t entirely...normal, but he hadn’t figured on them being bat-shit crazy instead. He simply coped with them, he didn’t try to rationalize or explain their occasionally kooky behaviour.

...Even if he did sometimes wonder what the rationale was behind Tooth trying to “streamline tooth-collecting” by amassing dozens of computer mice and plugging them into...her wall. As in, literally her wall. Jack still wasn’t entirely sure how she’d managed to exert enough force to repeatedly punch holes through solid tile with nothing but the end of a USB cable, nor did he know where the computer mice had come from in the first place. He’d asked, of course, but once the over-worked Tooth Fairy recovered from the sedative he’d forcefully administered (he drew a strong line at desecration of private property, even if it was the owner of said property who was doing the desecrating), she’d clammed up and refused to tell him anything, instead opting to blush strongly and hurriedly change the subject whenever he brought it up.

Which was, for the record, not terribly often. Only once or twice a week at most.

That aside, however, Jack was most concerned about North, especially as the Cossack had recently sent him a message (which is to say twelve) urging him to come to the Workshop to see him as quickly as possible, which in all probability meant that he was determined to rope Jack into whatever hare-brained scheme his burnt-out brain had concocted now.

...Scratch that, at this point Jack was more concerned about his own health than North’s. He should seriously get around writing his will at some point, if being a Guardian meant that he was now supposed to babysit a bunch of loonies every time stress and overwork drove them off the deep end.

Shaking his head while mentally praying to whatever deity may be listening, the winter spirit raised his fist and knocked firmly on the door to North’s office, deliberately ignoring the voice of sanity in his mind that insisted that this was a very, very bad idea.

After all, his friend and coworker needed him, and Jack would help.

...As long as it didn’t somehow involve the loss of any parts of his body, that is. Good replacement arms were so hard to find nowadays...

~=~

“You want to _what?_ ”

Jack couldn’t believe his ears. He couldn’t. Nothing could make him believe what he had just heard. His ears were liars and crooks and that was final.

Of course, that was when North repeated his statement, causing any meager hope that Jack had entertained towards perhaps having misheard to be set on fire and thrown out a window ten stories high. 

Jack gaped. He’d expected something demented, like plots to overthrow the British government, or attempts to reinvent the cheeseburger. He’d expected elaborate plans involving either pigeons or wads of used chewing gum or both. He’d expected many crazy things.

He had _not_ expected something this brain-numbingly stupid, insane, and suicidal.

“No, North, this is out of the question. I am _not_ going out to fight dragons with you!”

The Cossack looked extremely confused. “Why not, my friend?”

“Because they’re...well, they’re _dragons_ , North! Don’t you know what they _do_ to spirits? Especially winter ones?”

Dragons were well known for both their ugly tempers and their equally ugly looks. Scaly, leathery, they looked like giant crocodiles armed with bat wings and an excess of spikes and teeth. Their limbs were misshapen, their breath was fiery, and they were extremely difficult to kill, their thick skin blocking most enchantments, spells, or blasts of raw magic.

Oh, and much like the rest of the spirit population, they hated winter spirits with a vindictive passion. So no, Jack was not looking forward to meeting one of them. Ever. In any lifetime.

North’s eyes glittered dangerously at Jack’s pronouncement, the Guardian of Wonder apparently undeterred by Jack’s argument. “ I am aware, my friend. Which is why we must stamp them out at earliest opportunity!”

Oh, no. No, no, no. This was one idiotic plan that Jack was not going to be a part of, ever. He might care about his friends, but this was pure unmitigated insanity. 

The winter spirit took a step back, holding his staff to his chest in a subconscious gesture of self-defence. “Okay...well, North, that’s nice to know, but I think we should at least get some help or backup before trying to fight off a _dragon_. So, why don’t I go get Bunny--”

“No!” North suddenly looked enraged. “We are not involving him! I will show that I have no need for the help of egg-obsessed fur-ball! _Проклятие!_ ”

Jack blinked. “Okaaay…I’ll just go get Sandy then--”

“No,” repeated the Cossack with frightening gravity. “We will go alone, just the two of us. The others underestimate us, my friend, we must prove that we can do without their aid!”

This...was not good. As far as Jack could tell, he currently only had one way out of this mess. One way or another, he had to somehow get out of North’s office long enough to activate the Northern Lights so he could get the other, saner Guardians to help. North was too far gone for him to take care of on his own, and if he left the Workshop to bring back-up then only MiM knew what North would do without supervision.

(It was times like this when he wished he had the yetis on his side, but alas, the creatures were too intelligent and had gone into hiding the moment North started exhibiting signs of going around the bend. They always did at these times, bless them.)

A plan quickly forming in his mind, Jack took another step back towards the door, bracing himself for a rapid exit if the need arose. “...Alrighty then. I’ll be with you in just a moment--”

“It can wait, Jack! There is no time to lose, we must leave at once! To interior of _Dent du Chat_ mountain!”

Before he knew it, there was a crash, a shatter, a whirl of colors...and a beefy hand seizing his shoulder before roughly tossing him through the shimmering portal.

~=~

 _I’m going to kill North._

That was the main thought on Jack’s mind as he stared down a giant, vicious, charcoal-gray dragon.

The creature was huge, nearly filling the dark, dank cave which could have easily fitted the whole of Buckingham Palace and then some. It crouched like a praying mantis stalking its prey, its wry muscles braced for attack, red eyes glowering at Jack menacingly as it silently dared the winter spirit to try and steal the hoard of gold that it jealously guarded. 

It yawned, and his heart leaped into his throat as he caught a glance of its razor-sharp teeth, still stained as they were with blood and rot. This was it, he was dead. Here lies Jack Frost, December 14, 1695—July 7, 2017. Beloved brother and son.

He’d had a good run, at least.

“North?” he said very, very quietly, doing his best to keep his voice the epitome of calm. “I want you to know that if I die and you get out alive, I expect you to pay all my funeral fees. Also, you will not inherit any of my belongings after my demise.”

The dragon moved a few steps closer, and Jack spoke faster, heart beating frantically in his chest like a war-drum. “As far as the grave is concerned, I wish it to be placed beside my sister’s at the Burgess Cemetery, and I want forget-me-nots to be placed there every Wednesday. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” replied North, his face suddenly as white as paper. 

“Good.”

Which was right about when the dragon attacked.

~=~

The world was hazy and dark and warm, and yet Jack’s mind was elsewhere.

He remembered fire and scorching heat, remembered frantically trying to avoid becoming roasted. He recollected twisting and turning in the air as he struggled to remain always one step ahead of the overgrown lizard, to never stay in one place for long, to evade the blasts of red fire the creature kept breathing at him.

Most of all, he recalled fighting. Recalled firing blast after blast of icy winter magic straight into the dragon’s mouth, for that was the most vulnerable part of the beast. Remembered darting about like a madman, clashing with the brute over and over again until he felt dizzy and out of sorts, the drain on his power almost too much for him.

(Vaguely, he thought he had some memories of North attempting valiantly to engage in combat as well, the Cossack hanging on to the dragon’s face as he hacked at the red eyes with his sword, but he couldn’t be too sure. Kudos to North if the memories were true, though, it was a nice thought on his part)

At some point, the spotty memories told him he had been bleeding, blood leaking from a hole in his shoulder. He’d also sustained several nasty burns during the course of the fight, though he didn’t exactly retain how he’d received them.

...There had been blood dripping from his mouth as well, if memory served correctly. He remembered nearly choking on it. 

Sighing, the winter spirit pried his eyes open, ready to face the world (or rather the Workshop Infirmary, if his eyesight was any indication) once again. He had a pretty good idea what had happened to him, and knew that the next few days were going to be...painful. He’d used up too much of his magic during the battle, having drained it until he’d caused himself severe internal injuries, and it would take time for him to heal. 

All in all, what with the pain and trying to bring North back to his senses, the next few days would be nasty--

North.

Was he all right?

He glanced over the room, finding it empty except for himself and a yeti slumbering in a corner, and almost immediately his mind began to spiral into a panic. What was North doing now? Was he on some other insane mission, doing something so unbelievably stupid that it would get him hurt? 

Was he killed by the dragon?

No, no he wasn’t. A disjointed memory came to mind, the dragon’s corpse lying on the ground, himself on the brink of loosing consciousness, and something shaking his shoulder as North’s voice asked him if he was all right. No, North had escaped from the dragon. 

Still, he could be doing something else just as thoughtless as endeavouring to kill a dragon, and Jack had to make sure he was fine--

He did a double-take. Why was there a yeti in the room? Weren’t they supposed to be in hiding…?

Oooooh. Okay. So that meant that North had returned to his senses. 

Good. Maybe Jack didn’t have to get up quite yet. He settled down in the bed, making himself comfortable among the blankets as he tried not to jar his existing injuries. A bit of sleep sounded lovely at this point.

Although, North was going to compensate for this later. Once Jack felt a little less like a walking corpse, he swore to hunt down North and make him pay…

_In pranks._

Woe betide Nicholas St. North, for now he shall face a trickster’s wrath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too happy with this, but eh.
> 
> Thoughts?


End file.
